Je Suis de France
by Ninfia-Fan
Summary: A story in which France is at the centre of the tragic events that happened in Paris, France, on January 8th, 2015. How does he cope with these unfortunate events?


Je suis de France.

**I write this story about the tragedy that struck Paris, France on January 8th, 2015 in order to pay my respects to those who were killed, injured, or otherwise affected by the attacks. I wish to capture the affect that this has had on the people of France, particularly Paris. I want everyone to know that the news of the tragedy in which Charlie Hebdo and 11 others were killed has spread around the world. On behalf of Australia, I extend my deepest condolences and sympathies to those who are affected by what has happened.**

**Now, I am more compelled than ever to learn the French language and visit France one day. It is such a beautiful country and this should not have happened.**

The sun was shining, the clouds were jealous of its glow. The sky was blue, interspersed with white. The streets were full of people and lively, just the way it always was in this city, his city. The wind was cool, aiding the air in its frigid combat, winning the fight by causing many people to wear coats and scarves, and he was one of them. A dark pink-purple scarf with a light, soft brown coat. He held no destination in mind, for he was just content with watching and observing his people and a fair number of tourists, awed at the beauty of the city surrounding them. It was a bit difficult for the Frenchman not to swell with pride.

The Eiffel Tower watched his back, stretching high above the city, from where almost all of Paris could be seen, well, depending on how high you went. Most people didn't really ascend the Tower, but they still got to see a portion of the beauty of Paris. It was 11:10 in the morning, and people were going about their business, speaking various languages, though predominately French and English. Some other languages the blond got wind of passed too quickly before he could pin-point what language they were. He was walking along the north side of the river close to the Notre-Dame Cathedral, enjoying seeing the water run as much as seeing people go about their daily lives, with him just being a normal person, unless they knew about the country's personifications. Not many humans knew that, though. Not many at all.

He decided that he'd head towards Père Lachaise Cemetery, to honour the dead. He didn't always go to cemeteries, since they did make him a bit upset, but every once in a while, he visited the various cemeteries just to place flowers in front of a grave that had none, or honour the dead in some other way. Despite the fact that he had no flowers with him, he'd still pay his respects to these people who, yes, didn't fight for his country, but were still deserving of respect, anyway. The Frenchman, commonly referred to as 'frog' by a particular Briton, took his time walking the streets, not wanting to rush things and enjoy the sights around him.

He was about halfway to the cemetery when a woman approached him, a tourist asking for directions. She was quite short, middle aged and her French wasn't the best in the world; some sounds were too stressed, others weren't stressed enough. It made the blond male inwardly cringe, but he offered a smile and asked the woman if she spoke another language, like English. She said yes and they switched languages.

"I'm sorry, my French must be terrible," She apologised, her accent Australian. Briefly, Francis wondered why she was touring France at this time, considering there was something of a travel warning to Australians visiting France, with the whole Sydney Siege that happened scarcely a month ago and the fact that Islam was the second most popular religion in France, not that he disliked it. There was still a chance, no matter how slim, that something could happen here, too.

"Non, non, not at all. You just need a bit more practice at speaking such a beautiful language. I'm sure there are many people here in Paris willing to teach others their language. Now, you said you wanted to go to. . .?" The somewhat prideful man asked the woman to repeat her destination, before directions were given.

With a quick, but sincere 'thank you', the woman walked off, disappearing into the crowd quite quickly. Turning his attention back to the streets around him,he found himself at the large intersection at the South end of the Richard Lenoir Boulevard. Pulling his phone out for a few seconds, he found that it was 11:25. Minding the traffic, he crossed the road at the south end of the Boulevard, planning to continue with his earlier route. Only a few minutes had passed and he had barely walked 200 metres, when it happened.

_Bang!_

A soft, distant sound tore through the streets of Paris, causing those within earshot to stop everything and listen. What was it? Was it what the guy next to them was thinking?

Francis Bonnefoy was already heading towards the sound, an unwanted feeling of dread settling in his stomach. He doubled back to the South end of the Richard Lenoir Boulevard, walking quickly, but being careful to not cause alarm among his citizens.

_Bang!_

A second shot, just seconds after the first echoed through the surrounding streets. As Francis turned onto the Boulevard, the sound reached his ears. Now, a short, sharp pain pricked his chest, lasting less than a second, but it was enough to tell him what he wished wasn't true. That pain was the type of pain he got when one of his people were killed and he'd experienced it so much during the last 100 years that it quickly developed into a trigger for action, but also panic.

Someone was shooting at his people. Someone was murdering his citizens. By now, the two bangs had also registered in people's minds and some screamed, but most ran away from the noise, passing the Frenchman, as though he were a tree in their path. He could feel it, the terror of his citizens, and it began to flow to the top of his mind as well. The personification of France pushed down the welling terror and snapped out of his daze.

He ran towards the sound of even more gun shots, having already figured out that they were only a few hundred metres away. About halfway up the Boulevard, before the bend, something caught the attention of his blue eyes. Someone was crumpled on the pavement, unmoving. Francis' stomach plummeted as he approached the person, dressed in the black uniform of the French police. The man was dead, Francis was sure about that when the man didn't respond to his frantic questions. Several more gun shots blasted the air, sounding so much closer.

Francis realised where he was; close to Charlie Hebdo's office. He knew of the guy, since he often had some funny cartoons, as well as controversial ones. The offices had been firebombed back in 2011 and were threatened roughly a year later. Had people finally taken so much offence to his cartoons that they chose to do this? Sure, the cartoons did poke fun at various religions and their belief system, but surely this was taking it too far!

Knowing that nothing could be done for the downed police officer, he took off running towards the offices where the last shots emanated from. He didn't know why he was placing himself in so much danger. It wasn't like he had a gun or other weapon that he just carried around with him. He knew he couldn't die, not unless France itself was taken over by another country and all hope of resistance was lost, yet the pounding fear still hammered away at him.

Several more sharp pains stabbed his heart, causing the country to stop running until the pain passed, which took about ten seconds, this time. Using the length of the pain in his chest, Francis realised that at least nine people had been killed, if not more and at least eight had been injured. Finally regaining his composure, the blond all but sprinted around the corner onto the street that held the offices.

. . . Just in time to see the car drive around the corner at the other end of the street. He heard several bouts of gunfire less than 300 metres away, before hearing the car speed off into the streets of Paris. As much as Francis wanted to help the police follow them in some way, he knew he had to stay here and check the damage done to his people. Over the course of the past few minutes, several feelings had over-run his mind.

Shock, anger, disbelief, anguish; all of these and more had pushed their way to the surface of his mind, but now, they were being buried again. He could worry about himself later.

~oOo~

The attack had only happened yesterday, yet police officers were already conducting searches of everywhere the suspects could be. One of the perceived suspects had turned himself into police, not too far from the France-Belgium border. Back in Paris, the police were armed and making their presence known to everyone that this would not be tolerated. On social media, particularly Twitter, a new hashtag called 'Je Suis Charlie' was already circumnavigating the entire world. The attack was making headlines in every news bulletin and, world-wide, cartoonists ranging from amateurs to masters were protesting what had happened. Some of his own citizens had gathered in the streets and held candle-lit vigils for the victims and everyone affected by the tragedy.

Last night, in Paris, the Eiffel Tower had gone completely dark for a few minute to honour the victims of the attack on Charlie Hebdo's offices. A total of twelve people had been killed, most of whom were journalists, and several had been critacally injured, or so the reports claimed. For the Frenchman, the last 24 hours had been nothing but phone calls with various officials and political leaders, all wanting to know the latest and informing each other of what they knew.

Earlier, Francis was at home, in his living room, enjoying a brief moment of quiet from people all but yelling in his ear. That didn't last long, though. Now, Francis was still at home, but several others were also there with him. His favourite Briton had came as fast as possible, arriving in less than five hours after the attack, with Canada and, of course, America only three hours behind Britain. Surprisingly enough, Australia was also there, having arrived at about three that morning, due to time zones.

The Aussie and the Frenchman had never really interacted outside of the world meetings, but with the attack on Sydney having occurred scarcely a month ago, it was little wonder why he was there. Australia said that New Zealand would have been there, too, but he was fairly busy at the moment and couldn't find anyone to look after his pet Kiwi. Speaking of pets, Jett's koala, Steve, was left in the care of a friend, a human who knew about the country's personifications and knew how to look after koalas.

In fact, all of them, except Britain had now had some form of attack occur within their borders. Canada's parliament got attacked a couple of months ago, then it was the Sydney Siege in Australia and the two police officers in New York, who were shot, before the shooter killed himself. Now it was Paris, France, where twelve were killed and, what seemed to be a similar number, injured. Francis had been keeping his feelings suppressed over the past 24 hours, but that was proving to be difficult now.

"Non, non, non, non, non," Francis began muttering in French, perhaps not even realising he was doing so, "Pourquoi? Pourquoi est-ce arrivé? Qu'ont-ils fait pour mériter cela? Ils ne auraient pas été tués comme ça! Cela ne devrait pas avoir lieu! Ils devraient être encore en vie, que diable!"

The Frenchman ran his hands through his long, now tussled blond hair, becoming increasingly agitated. America and Australia both looked worried, but neither of them knew how to deal with a distraught France. So, it was up to Canada and Britain, the latter of whom decided to go for the 'tough love' approach. Britain moved over to where Francis was now pacing and forced him to stop by grabbing his arm.

"Francis!" The Briton snapped, hoping that using his human name would snap him back to reality, "Calm down and clear your stupid head! Use your brain if you have one! Yes, this might seem like the end of the world, but it isn't, you moron! Snap out of this, frog!"

Francis was still looking distraught, so Arthur softened his voice, "Come on, frog. We'll get through this. All of us will help you. . ."

No such luck. Francis wasn't listening, so Arthur released his arm and looked to Canada, hoping he could snap the Frenchman out of his daze. Matthew nodded, his eyes filled with concern and Kumajiro held firmly in his arms. Francis was pacing again, but, unlike Britain, Canada didn't try to stop him physically.

"Papa," He began, his voice soft, but Francis ignored him.

The younger blond waited for Francis to pass in front of him again, before speaking again, "Papa, I really think—"

Again, no luck. By now, Canada was both annoyed and worried over the fact that his papa was ignoring him.

"Papa!" Canada shouted, shocking everyone. He then decided to speak in French — maybe Francis would listen, "Détacher de cela, papa! Je sais que ce est difficile pour vous. Il est difficile pour nous tous. Papa, je ai besoin de vous demander de se calmer, se il vous plaît. Nous sommes les nations, ne sommes-nous? Et nous nous entraidons, indépendamment de notre passé, quand quelque chose comme cela arrive, non? Alors, papa, calmez-vous et laissez -nous vous aider, se il vous plaît."

Britain was able to follow what Canada said, since he knew French, but America and Australia were in the dark as to what was being said, but they had a general idea, since Matthew's tone was soft and pleading, by the end.

That seemed to work. Francis had stopped pacing the second Matthew had raised his voice, which was a rare event. Now, he seemed to be back to his regular self, though maybe still a bit tense.

"I-I'm sorry, Matthew, I should have listened immediately. It's just, my people they're in a complete state of shock and — this should have been impossible." Francis' voice was as soft as Matthew's now, as the reality of everything finally hit him.

"Oi, mate," Jett decided to speak, offering a good-natured smile, "Y'know we're here for ya, right? We'll help ya in anyway we can."

"He's right, dude," A certain hero-obsessed American cut in, earning a glare from the Aussie, "The hero will help those in need anytime, anywhere! We're here for you, bro."

"Papa, if you ever need help with anything, all you have to do is ask," Spoke the Canadian who always forgot his bear's name. Said bear tilted its head to the side, but didn't object to his owner's wishes.

"Seriously, frog, don't refuse the help you're offered. We're all here for you; everyone is. The entire world's in shock over what's happened and, once again, the world's coming together to help you and your people, so don't let us down, all right?" A specific Briton seemed to have the ability to turn into a mobile lecturer.

"You all worry too much. I'm prideful, not stupid. Though, getting through this is going to be quite difficult for my people. . ." Francis' smile vanished, but the other countries again pledged their support.

_They're right,_ thought Francis, _My people will get through this._

_Je suis de France._

**Translations:**

**Please note that I used Google Translate for all of these translations, thus the accuracy might not be the best. I'm not a speaker of French, either.**

_**Je Suis Charlie.**_

**I am Charlie.**

_**Non, non, non, non, non. Pourquoi? Pourquoi est-ce arrivé? Qu'ont-ils fait pour mériter cela? Ils ne auraient pas été tués comme ça! Cela ne devrait pas avoir lieu! Ils devraient être encore en vie, que diable!**_

**No, no, no, no, no. Why? Why did this happen? What did they do to deserve this? They should not have been killed like that! This should not take place! They should still be alive, damn it!**

_**Papa! Détacher de cela, papa! Je sais que ce est difficile pour vous. Il est difficile pour nous tous. Papa, je ai besoin de vous demander de se calmer, se il vous plaît. Nous sommes les nations, ne sommes-nous? Et nous nous entraidons, indépendamment de notre passé, quand quelque chose comme cela arrive, non? Alors, papa, calmez-vous et laissez -nous vous aider, se il vous plaît.**_

**Papa! Snap out of it, papa! I know this is difficult for you. It's difficult for all of us. Papa, I need to ask you to calm down, please. We're nations, aren't we? And we help each other, regardless of our pasts, when something like this happens, right? So, papa, calm down and let us help you, please.**

_**Je suis de France.**_

**I am France.**


End file.
